Heart of the Matter
by SilverWolf7
Summary: Sarek and McCoy have a talk about death, grief and survival, as the Enterprise and her crew slowly make their way back to Earth.


*meep* This is my first ever foray into the Star Trek fandom with my writing, so if anything turned out disastrously wrong, it's a mixture of my being a new fan and finding Vulcans hard to write. I hope this turned out alright anyway. Also, I tried to get rid of the 'British' spelling, but I am Australian, not American and I may have missed a few in there.

This story mainly came about over my wanting more post Nero-pre official captaincy of the Enterprise stories. And to show, from a Vulcan's point of view, that not only Vulcans have lost a lot in this battle. They may have lost the most and in the worst way, but they are not the only ones who have lost a lot. Also, I love Sarek's character, though I am still trying to figure out why, and find stories in this category with him are even more missing than most.

Spock is talked about, but not an actual character in this story. This is purely Sarek and McCoy interaction.

There is talk and mention of a suicide in this story, but none of the main characters are thinking of doing it.

Hope someone out there enjoys reading this story as much as I had fun writing it.

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Heart of the Matter

They were not to be left alone.

It was Captain Pike's rule, Acting Captain Kirk's rule since the real Captain was in no fit state to do his job, and therefore what was to be done onboard the _Enterprise_. Which was slowly limping back towards the Space Port above Earth. Very slowly.

He had word that Spock had tried to get the crew to understand they would need solitude in this time, but after the discovery of T'Lan, who had stopped her heart to end the pain, the rule was being rather seriously taken.

Taking one's own life was not logical. For a Vulcan to do so meant serious trouble for the rest. Or so the humans thought. He himself was in no danger of doing so. He still had something to hold on to, and a job to do for his people.

The endless company of the other members of the High Council was, however, beginning to make him nervous, and that was something he had no desire of showing, let alone expressing to anyone. His concentration was not adequate however, and he was unable to fall into a meditative state to calm himself.

He was also finding sleep hard to come by.

It had been two weeks since he had lost Amanda, two weeks since Vulcan had been destroyed. While Vulcans could and would go for long stretches without sleep when stress levels were particularly high, he was exhausted and needed rest to gain some semblance of control back.

He wanted to find some secluded place away from prying eyes and meditate and then sleep for a few hours. He could not do that here, in a room shared with 3 others. He was unable to perceive whether he would be able to achieve this anywhere in the ship.

If this continued, he'd be in no fit state to do his job by the time they reached Earth, and he would be desperately needed.

He needed this for his own state of mind, if not for his people. He was dangerously close to performing an act similar to that his son had enacted on the bridge once Acting Captain Kirk had been beamed back aboard.

That had been when his son had been holding that position. Spock was now acting only as Science Officer. His son, the one time he had managed to glimpse him in the mess hall, seemed ultimately relieved to not have the higher job of Acting Captain, or First Officer. It was a small measure of peace to see that relief. His son was doing as well as expected after his violent outburst.

He could not blame Spock for his loss of control on the bridge that day, and he could understand why Kirk had found it necessary to take over. Spock had been in no right state of mind to be in a position of that much authority.

He was in no right state of mind. He doubted any survivor left was. He doubted anyone on the ship was, including Kirk. They had all suffered their own losses. Every last man and woman haunting the wrecked vessel.

It was self-indulgent that the only loss he wanted to grieve was that of his late wife, his bondmate. It was the only loss he was willing to admit he felt. Every other loss on top of her death was too much to think about without cracking what was left of his control.

Thinking of it was beginning to hurt his head.

Reaching a hand to his forehead, he rubbed at where the pain was gathering and thought nothing much of it. He had headaches before. His job and family life had a tendency of getting stressful. Usually, he would be able to control the pain, but with his mental faculties being sub standard for the time being, he found he was going to have to, as the humans would say, put up with it.

He lay down on the bed he was given and stared at the ceiling of the room. The others were in a light state of meditation, leaving him to his own pain for the time being. He was finding the flickering of the candles scattered about the room was too much for his head though, and he got up to go to the living quarters off the bedroom they were piled in.

It was not so much a sensitivity to light. He could stand the light in the living quarters. It was how the candlelight waved on the walls and ceiling and urged him to meditate. Urged him to do as any Vulcan would in an emotional state.

The pain in his head got worse and he let himself sigh with the unfamiliar ache.

He was separated from his son, though out of all the Vulcans currently on board he was the one most likely to be given access to the bridge. Perhaps a visit with his son was in order. He had yet to tell Spock that he did not think any ill will towards him for his loss of control.

But first, he wanted rest. He wanted time alone. He wanted something for this ever increasing pain in his head. So, a walk to the med bay first would do him good.

The door to the room was unlocked, and he made his way out into the almost empty corridors of the ship. He knew that the quarters they had been given were on the same floor as the med bay. The crew believed that if anyone would need medical assistance, it would be the Vulcans on board.

He had agreed. Though there were hurt people on board. Or at least there had been.

A week ago, one of the few remaining Starfleet ships had come to get their injured and dead and take them back to Earth for more thorough treatment, care or burial. It freed the one doctor on board up to do minimal work on unimportant injuries, like his little...problem.

The only seriously injured person who stayed on board was the Captain, refusing to leave his ship. He had a permanent room and biobed, since he was unable to walk.

The med bay lights were up higher than was comfortable for his eyes, but at least it showed there were people here. Even if they were all medical personnel. With half the crew dead, and the other half having to work multiple jobs instead of what they were originally selected, knowing there were other people aboard was all well and good.

He found it refreshing. He sat down to wait for someone to realize he was there, as he was not going to bring unwanted attention to himself by going up to the doctor or one of his nurses and asking for medical help.

The humming of equipment coming from one of the rooms was a constant, but welcome background noise. He was finding it rather soothing to his constant state of nervousness. Too soothing. The noise was having a desired effect on his tired body. It was putting him to sleep.

He got to his feet and made his way to the doctor's office. The door read that the CMO onboard was a Doctor Puri, but he had heard the doctor being called McCoy by the bridge crew. He knocked without thinking too hard on it. A lot of people had died in the past few weeks.

The door was opened with more force than was necessary and he was soon stared at by a rather angry looking young man, who was looking just as ragged as he expected he looked himself.

"Oh, Ambassador. Please say this is not a medical emergency, because I really couldn't stand another of those right now."

He shook his head. "No, doctor. No emergency."

The doctor rubbed at his face and nodded. "Good. What can I do for you then?"

"Not much. I am experiencing a headache. And your medical bay is putting me to sleep. I have been unable to rest, so a bed would be preferable."

At the word rest, McCoy's head jerked up. "You and everyone else it seems. I've given out more red pills the last two weeks to last me a lifetime. Damn time travelling Romulans should go somewhere else next time."

Slight amusement made him nod and almost smile. He could not understand why the thought was remotely amusing to begin with. "Agreed."

"I'm not even sure they'd work on Vulcan physiology. If I had any left to even give you. Which I don't, so don't ask."

He blinked. He was sure he had asked for a bed, not a pill. "I did not ask for any, doctor. Being out of that room and in here has helped enough to shift that."

McCoy blinked back at him. "You can't sleep with the other Vulcans around?"

"No. It is having the opposite effect on me. It is putting me in a constant state of...nervousness might be the best word. It is not a pleasant state to be in. Getting out of that room was relaxing enough. I would like to visit with my son, but find sleep more fitting for the time being. A bed is all I ask for."

McCoy nodded, and gestured out the door. "Well, we've got plenty of them in here. Since the patients that were in need of medical help were all shipped out, it's been a bit dead in here. Quiet. No actual dead in here any longer. Thank God for that."

"I heard that the Captain is still on board."

Nodding, the doctor pulled open a door to one of the rooms and waved him inside. "Yeah. Only real patient I've got. And he's still not completely out of danger yet. There's some kind of parasite wrapped around his spinal chord. Doing havoc to his systems. Still, he'll live. Starfleet doesn't want me to operate, just in case. What the Hell is that meant to mean anyway, just in case? I've got more time clocked as a surgeon than Puri had before he was killed."

Ah, his estimation that the other doctor had been killed was correct. "I do not doubt your skill, doctor. Perhaps it is that this was your first post onboard a starship."

"Any delay could mean Captain Pike won't get back on his feet, Ambassador. And they are delaying with months. That this is my first time on board one of these flying death traps is not of any consequence. They just don't want paperwork coming through in which some 'rookie' destroyed any chances one of their esteemed captains ever had of walking again. This whole damn ship is run by rookies right now. The most high ranking officer still working is your son. And he had to be demoted because of what happened. Yeah, this is a great first time."

He silently agreed with the doctor. What had started off as a good place for a supposed training mission for the graduating class of cadets had turned into a death sentence for most. The ones that were left behind, were shipped back injured, or those still onboard the _Enterprise_, were the only survivors. Usually he would try to use words of comfort to the man beside him, but he knew in this case words would be meaningless and so he stayed silent.

He had spent far too much time with humans. He was beginning to think like one. He would give anything right then for Amanda to tell him what to do in this current situation, but she, like Vulcan, was dead.

Which put him, so to speak, in the 'same boat' as the raging doctor.

He would prefer this outward display of emotion more than the quiet contemplations of the other Vulcans. It was more comforting knowing there was someone on the ship willing to openly speak of what happened, even if it was in a dense, overly crude manner.

And now he was up on his feet, having heard what the doctor had to say, and found sleep elusive once again. He was not too sure if he was willing to even lie down, let alone close his eyes. His mind was too fixed on his Amanda's fall. The look on his son's face at the knowledge that she was gone.

"Well, there's a bed. Three in fact. Take your pick."

He blinked, looked to McCoy and barely kept the grimace from forming on his face. "I find myself unwilling to close my eyes."

A loud sigh was his response for a few seconds, before McCoy pointed to the nearest bed. "Sit down. Damn Romulans. Damn Vulcan minds...anyone told you that Vulcans are supposed to not be so emotional?"

"I am quite well aware of this, doctor. All things considered, I am quite close to humans, considering my job and home life consist of contact with your own species. Vulcans are not emotionless, however, doctor. We control our emotions."

He knew he had said something wrong the moment he stopped, but could not think what it was. The look on McCoy's face made him sure something was wrongly said.

"When's the last time you slept? For that matter, when's the last time you ate?"

The questions took him by surprise. With the manner in which this human spoke, he had thought it would all be the same, but between one sentence and another, attitude had completely changed.

"I ate a week ago. I have not slept since boarding the ship."

McCoy nodded at him. "Right. Stay here for a minute. I'm going to get one of my nurses to bring up some of that plomeek soup Vulcans like to eat. I don't want you on solids right now."

"I am not hungry, doctor."

He wasn't expecting a harsh little laugh as a response to that simple statement of fact, but he heard it anyway.

"Not hungry? Well, you state things much more clearly than that son of yours. I had him in here two days ago. Hadn't eaten in roughly a week himself. Told him to eat and his response was 'I do not require sustenance at this time, doctor.' I swear he tries too hard sometimes."

It was not rational to get angry on his son's behalf, but he found himself battling with the unwanted emotion, regardless. "Spock did not have much of a choice, doctor."

McCoy looked at him for a few seconds, before nodding. "Yeah, must have been hard. Poor kid. Still, you may not feel hungry, but your body does need the food. Lack of appetite is the grief talking. So are sleep problems for that matter."

"I have been through grief before."

"Maybe. But never like this, right?"

He thought about that question, before reaching the only response he could. "No. Never like this. This is...worse."

A nod was the only response he got, before the doctor left the room, only to return a minute later with a hypospray and a glass of water. He eyed the hypo with a wariness he hoped wasn't showing as clearly as he thought it was.

"It's for the headache, not to knock you out. I know this is safe for Vulcans." With that said, the hypo in question was raised to his arm and injected. After a few seconds, the headache eased. He could not stop the sigh that he gave at that slight relief.

He drank the water when it was given to him. It was warm, but helped ease tightness in his throat he had not realized was there. Now he knew he needed sleep. His mind was becoming sluggish and he was having more trouble concentrating on anything around him. Or going on internally.

The room was silent, except for the constant hum of the bed, in working order since he was sitting on it. He glanced up to read his body signs and frowned when he noticed his blood pressure was ever so slightly raised.

"That'll hopefully pass once you've eaten and gotten some rest. I thought Vulcans could control their bodies, ease problems like that."

Sighing again, he nodded. "We can. I lack the concentration for it. I will not gain that back until I have rested. I am unable to meditate, which would help me greatly."

"Because of the lack of concentration?"

He nodded. No need to repeat useless words. All words seemed useless.

"Well, I can't give you anything for that. It'll have to pass on its own."

They fell into silence again, and he was becoming slightly concerned that he was having a therapeutic session without his knowledge or permission. Before he could ask if this was happening or not, a nurse came into the room, holding a tray with a bowl of plomeek soup and a spoon.

"Thank you Nurse. You can go now." The doctor stated, before the nurse made a hasty exit. The voice McCoy had used, going back to the brash one he had heard when he had first come here.

The tray was passed over to him and he was given a glare until he gave in and took his first taste of the soup. It tasted...right. But like something was missing. At first he thought it was because it was replicated, until he had finished it, and washed it down with the rest of the water.

It was not that there had been anything changed in the structure of the soup. It was that he was eating it, even though he would never be able to taste a proper, non-replicated version again. Not on his own world anyway, and definitely not the way Amanda made it, with different flavorings so it was palatable to both Terran and Vulcan tastebuds.

His breath caught, and it took him a few long seconds to get himself under enough control to not give a blatant example of how much emotional pain he was in. When he was sure he was not going to give the doctor a most unseemly display, he opened his eyes and looked down at his hands, clenched at his sides.

"Yeah, Spock had that same reaction to the soup I gave him. I won't tell anyone, don't worry about that. I know you value privacy when it comes to emotions. I just have one more question to ask before I leave. And it isn't a comfortable one. Are you suicidal or have you had thoughts of killing yourself?"

The question stunned him. That he was even being asked was highly unlikely. But, with the 'no Vulcan is to be left alone' rule on board, he could understand why he was asked.

"No. To both. I would never do that to Spock. Or the remaining members of my people. I am needed. I take that seriously."

That seemed to brighten the doctor's mood, as McCoy smiled at him for it. "Good! That's the kind of answer I like to hear to that question. You're a survivor, Sarek. All we can hope for are more like you. And, given your species, it seems rather likely that you're all going to damn well try your hardest to move on and survive this. Not all will be strong enough for it. You'll probably see more suicides, but that's to be expected. Just don't ever give in yourself."

"I do not plan to, doctor McCoy."

"Good! I think it's safe to let you have the room to yourself. Get some sleep. Doctor's orders."

With that said, he found himself alone in the room. Empty. The slow humming of the biobed doing its job above his head.

He lay down, closed his eyes and let the humming and peace of finally having some time to himself wash over him. He'd meditate properly when he woke up. Then visit with Spock.

He was deeply asleep within a minute.


End file.
